I lay there silently, hoarding my small dignity. I did not ask about the gate or the closet. I did not question the bedtime ritualwhere, on the cold bathroom tiles, I was spread out dailyand examined for flaws. I did not knowthat my bones, those solids, those pieces of sculpturewould not splinter.
Anne SextonAbout author
- Author's profession: Poet
- Nationality: american
- Born: November 9, 1928
- Died: October 4, 1974
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Life … is a bit like reading. … If all your responses to a book have already been duplicated and expanded upon by a professional critic, then what point is there to your reading? Only that it’s yours. Similarly, why live your life? Because it’s yours. But what if such an answer becomes less and less convincing?
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